


Wicked Benediction

by MinervaEvenstar



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alcohol, Aziraphale's Nerdy Dirty Talk, Canon Compliant, Crowley's Awkward Declaration of Love, Drunken Kissing, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Consent, First Time, Footnotes, Genderfluid Characters, Humor, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Romantic Fluff, Sexual Content, poetic descriptions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-21 22:57:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12467844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinervaEvenstar/pseuds/MinervaEvenstar
Summary: Angels are sexless and demons are heartless, but love, lust, and wine can alter reality. Especially if miraculously sinful romance between beings of Heaven and Hell is part of the Ineffable Plan. 'The thing is: If you did, you know, Fall, then I'd catch you. Or something.'





	Wicked Benediction

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: None...Unless ambiguous homosexuality is a warning? It is implied both characters have male forms in this piece, though no vivid descriptions of anatomy are given and fluidity of gender/sex is mentioned.  
> There are no spoilers for Good Omens.
> 
> Disclaimer: Crowley and Aziraphale are the ineffably hilarious and adorable creations of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. I am a humble fangirl, who wrote about them for love and no money.
> 
> Notes: The rating might be Older Teen since the aforementioned ‘ sexual content’ isn't very graphic, but it's better to play it safe when the Metatron may be around to smite me!  
> The setting of this fan fiction can take place either before or after the plot of Good Omens, wherever readers prefer in their head-canons.  
> Readers can wait until the end to read the footnotes if they do not wish to interrupt the flow of their perusal to scroll down and back up again. I included footnotes since the original work has them.

Angels were sexless (unless they chose otherwise). They had no sexual organs and therefore no sexual yearnings. However, they did often feel fondness underneath their uptight righteousness. Intercourse was not regarded as negative in the eyes of Heaven; the concept of adultery being a sin was because many humans believed whatever caused pleasure must be bad (1). Angels were not forbidden from desiring those they loved; they simply _did not_...in all cases except one (not that Aziraphale would admit it).

Demons were heartless (unless they chose otherwise). They had sexual urges for partners whom they lusted, coveted, possessed, hoarded, and controlled. However, they did not feel love underneath their selfish passion. Angels who had Fallen and now saw through the eyes of Hell were so full of hateful wrath that they had forgotten how to love (2). Demons were not banned from loving those they desired; they simply _did not_...in all instances save one (not that Crowley would confess it).

If Aziraphale felt fluttering in his stomach when Crowley gazed at him with intense yellow eyes sans sunglasses, or a tingling on his flesh when Crowley bumped against him to pass him the alcohol bottle, then that didn't mean he _craved_ the rebel. Of course it didn't. He'd never felt anything like that for any other beings in Creation. The fact that he was currently kissing Crowley in drunken appreciation instead of smiting him for theft was irrelevant. 

If Crowley felt empty and lonely when Aziraphale was not around to annoy, or would willingly suffer eternal damnation if it meant Aziraphale was able to enjoy his hot chocolate in peace, then that didn't mean he _cared_ for the goody-two-shoes. Of course it didn't. He'd never felt anything resembling that for any other figures in Existence. The fact that he spent a week scouring the world just to locate - and subsequently steal - a rare book Aziraphale was missing from his collection was immaterial. 

Aziraphale would be obligated to return the tome to its rightful owner whenever Crowley chose to leave the bookshop, driving away in his Bentley in a manner which ignored all traffic - and some physics - laws while listening to Beethoven's "Somebody to Love." However, it was the thought that counted. What precisely the thought was and what exactly it counted for, neither spirit was able or ready to acknowledge. 

"I'm sor-sorry," Aziraphale stuttered. He didn't know what had come over him. The typical connection he felt to Crowley, a sense of being accepted and understood (3), had filled the blond up so much he felt he might explode if he didn't _do_ something. Surely, that illustrated a benevolent overflow of platonic gratefulness and not wild passion? Angels were Above such things. 

"I'm not." Crowley smirked. He had wanted to demonstrate his interest in Aziraphale's company for several centuries (4), but the brunet had been too concerned about offending Aziraphale's delicate sense of propriety and violating the trust in the unspoken, unwritten, and generally unspecified conditions of their Arrangement to risk more than subtle flirting, often under the influence of intoxicants. Certainly, that showed a serpentine motive for avoiding conflict in an advantageous alliance and not respectful tenderness? Demons were Below such things. 

"It is, uh, in my nature to try to save lost souls by showing them, erm, affection." Admittedly, not Aziraphale's soundest justification, but he was mildly inebriated and quite overcome with gratitude - and NOT any type of attraction, thank you - that his counterpart had endeavoured to get him a thoughtful gift when it was no where close to the anniversary of his Creation Day. 

"Right, yeah, and it's in mine to try to corrupt pure souls by seducing them. Might I, um, Tempt you to do more kissing in a bed?" Honestly, not Crowley's smoothest invitation, but he was fairly intoxicated, and his immortal opposite - whom he had NO warm, fuzzy feelings for whatsoever, thank you - had just engaged him in a game of tonsil hockey when they weren't anywhere near Canada. 

"...Well...I shall be able to Save humans more effectively if I can relate firsthand to what Tempts them." 

"I'll be better at getting humans to damn themselves if I test my skills on an angel." 

Neither dared to will himself into sobriety lest the individual gain the presence of the mind to admit the Saving and Tempting was a ruse to deepen their relationship. If he did, he would be duty-bound to turn the conversation into more sane and familiar, less exciting, territory. Besides, they weren't drunk to the point of slurred speech or stumbling, as their arguably coherent conversation and mostly-steady trek to Aziraphale’s bedroom – which was, unsurprisingly, disused and encyclopaedia-filled - demonstrated. 

Keeping your friends close and your enemies closer would never be a more enjoyable task at any point in history. They weren’t to know that yet, as they presently were studying one another with the anxious eagerness of teenagers playing Spin the Bottle (instead of ancient entities who’d recently drunk a bottle), but they would soon enough. After all, they'd seen Earth's history play out from the Beginning. It might be assumed that they would've learned enough to skip the denial stage of their relationship, but no amount of experience and knowledge could nicely or accurately prepare anyone other than Agnes Nutter for the Ineffable.

"Falling from grace isn't so bad, if you were worried." 

"I wasn't, dear. Just to be clear, I wouldn't be, uh, interested in conducting this type of research if I didn't have, well, favourable regard for you." He didn't want to alarm Crowley by mentioning the sacred affectivity of love outright. "And learning information to benefit mankind won't get me into trouble with my people." Aziraphale hoped he was correct regarding that. 

"I sort of hoped you liked me beyond the angelic compulsion to feel _compassion_ for things." The kindness was uttered like a revolting obscenity. He didn't want to hear any further fluffy declarations of Feelings that might threaten his demonic essence. "Because, the thing is: If you _were_ worried, and you did, you know, Fall, then I'd catch you. Or something." Crowley feared he was sincere about that. 

"Pardon?" Images of large nets shaped to accommodate winged, human-sized creatures crossed Aziraphale's mind. If the former swordsman had ever watched a television for more than a cursory glance at the 'moving picture box,’ then the vision likely would have been in cartoon format (5). 

"Nothing, nothing at all! Now, then, the thing is: We were talking about possibly...fornicating?" 

Aziraphale sensed something heavy growing between his legs. Naught larger than that of an average mortal, as the Principality possessed no vanity. 

Crowley experienced something warm forming in chest. Nothing bigger than that of the average Grinch, as the Serpent had some pride. 

Both organs began to pulse. 

"Our Arrangement is naught if not mutually beneficial, and we exhausted most other advantages over the centuries." Aziraphale convinced himself this was a choice made by pragmatism, and not due to longing for an embrace from someone the angel - against all probability and reason - adored and trusted more than the wonders judged 'pious enough' for Upstairs. 

"So, this was bound to happen eventually?" Crowley assured himself this was a decision based on the prospect of tension relief, and not due to someone whose smile caused the demon - against all likelihood and logic - to feel so warm and gooey he would receive punishment from Downstairs, not for too closely resembling a human, but for being too similar to the fillings of sweet pies fresh from the ovens of a human baker. 

"Inevitable, if not Ineffable." 

Aziraphale's caress relaxed divinely. 

Crowley's tongue stimulated wickedly. 

"Our clothes seem to be obstructing progress. May we please remove them?" 

"Oh, yesss." 

Aziraphale's skin smelled light, fresh, and clean. 

Crowley's mouth tasted dark, rich, and sinful. 

"Blast your flaming sword! Is there a way the sway over your - Mmm! - compulsive obedience could be transferred to me for - Ooh! - an hour or two?" 

"I'm afraid it doesn't work that way, dear boy, but we can try a - AH! - d-different position." 

Lamps blazed brighter in the centre of the room. 

Shadows thickened along walls and in corners. 

Light and darkness danced together with more seamless ease than Aziraphale and Crowley managed in their corporeal shapes - the gavotte notwithstanding - though their current efforts at horizontal dance moves were admirably competent once orchestra music written by a Classical composer Miraculously began to play from somewhere. The lovers instinctively matched their movements to its rhythm (6). 

"I told you that you had a piece of _goodness_ inside of you, you old serpent." 

"Sure, rub it in, why don't you?" 

"I am; I thought that was the point." 

"Oh, shut up and - Bugger!" 

"I am; I thought that was the point." 

Time was different for those with indefinite lifespans, but time was turned unceremoniously on its head without a polite warning as the immortals clutched their counterparts. The approach to the summit lasted eternity, yet nonetheless ended too rapidly. 

Aziraphale emitted high-pitched gasps. 

Crowley produced low groans. 

"Oh, God!" 

"Oh, Hell!" 

Flashes of infernal fire burst behind Aziraphale's eyes. 

Bursts of holy light flashed in front of Crowley's vision. 

It was fortunate that the figures did not require oxygen, as even breathing was slow to return to their humanoid bodies. 

"Not bad, angel." 

"Indeed. Quite the opposite." 

The automobile-junkie licked his lips to savour a taste lingering there as if he found it as pleasing as angel food cake, his favourite dessert. In fact, he seemed to _prefer_ the flavour of his new lover. Aziraphale was embarrassed to find himself flattered. 

"You _are_ the expert on all things Good." Crowley's remark was half-sarcastic and half-serious. 

The bibliophile felt distracted and ecstatic, like he'd just finished a spectacular novel that left him slightly detached from a reality which existed beyond the world of the story. In fact, he seemed to glow _more_ than he did post-read. Crowley was unsurprised to find himself gratified. 

"Hmm? Oh, yes, true." Aziraphale's tone was distant in the hazy bliss following his first orgasm. 

Crowley's innate inclination towards Being a Bastard reared its nefarious head. "Of course, it could just be beginner's luck. You might be rubbish at shagging on your next attempt." 

Aziraphale's inborn tendency to be a Role-Model for Saints raised its patient head. "That goes for you as well, dear." 

"What do you mean? I've committed plenty of adultery. That is, not as much as most demons, and not in the past millennia or so, but often enough." He seemed insulted Aziraphale thought otherwise. Granted, he typically chose vices other than lust to exploit in his mortal victims, though that was due to preference and not a lack of skill. Crowley's partners from earlier eons were suitably debauched and satisfied. However, Crowley pursued other avenues because when the botany-abuser compared physical exertion with nude harlots to philosophical discussions with a poorly dressed Aziraphale, there was never much of a thrill. 

"Distasteful affairs aside, have you made love often?" Aziraphale managed to look haughty and sound nervous simultaneously. He knew celibacy and heterosexuality had zilch to do with integrity, and were thus only considered sacred by misinformed people. Chastity was a virtue where as lust was a sin, but that was only if the lust was purely for the sake of selfish, carnal gratification. The drive behind Aziraphale’s actions hadn't been for tangible pleasure (That had been a lovely result, but not the intent.). The angel's impulse had been to share affection and create deeper emotional intimacy via a physical act, making the intercourse a 'pure' experience. He harboured no insecurities about what they had engaged in, or that he had not attempted it previously, but the bicycle-healer was a bit fretful that his partner wouldn't share his emotions. Aziraphale had sensed Crowley feeling protective and cherishing throughout the activity, though that may not mean much, as the con artist occasionally expressed similar affectivities when they ate sushi together. 

"I don’t think – that is -" Unable, to come up with a convincing argument that what they had done was 'just sex,' the Fallen one avoided the question. "Everything is just different with you, okay? Okay." Aziraphale's beam of joy threatened to melt Crowley into goo, ergo he hastily changed the subject. "Anyway, we could do it again to find out if it was just beginner's fuck-" 

"Crowley! Language!" Aziraphale was scandalised. He had just given his virginity to a demon, and they were both still as bare as Adam and Ever had initially been in Eden, but profanity offended him. A vassal of God needed priorities. 

"Luck, I meant _beginner's luck_ , of course. I used the phrase before, didn’t I?" Crowley was a good liar - or more aptly a _talented_ liar since liars by their very natures couldn't be described as 'good' - but in this instance he couldn't have convinced an obtuse monkey of his sincerity. 

Aziraphale let the untruth pass whilst taking a few moments to consider the proposition before responding. It didn't appear as if either Earthly Representative was going to have a supervisor manifest to drag him back to his respective spiritual realm for retribution, so the Guardian of The Eastern Gate primly agreed, "We could." 

There was a silence in which the relief that mutual _want_ and _love_ had _finally_ been exposed hung in the air. Neither intended to verbally express it, though each knew the other was also aware of it, for it was practically waving a neon sign and inviting them to join a Conga Line. Maybe they would say the words and join the Conga Line next time; baby steps and all that. 

"Want to try it as females next time, Aziraphale?" 

"We can shift forms only if you promise not to sprout any inhuman appendages other than wings." 

"Oh, c'mon, not even a-" 

_"No!"_

"All right _, all_ _right_."

Without any need for discussion, Crowley lay flat on his back with snake eyes closed and Aziraphale rested a tawny head on the thin chest. Pale limbs encircled Crowley’s waist and narrow arms encased Aziraphale’s shoulders. 

‘Naturally, a fiend of the Pit would be slothful after being lustful. Mayhap, a short nap wouldn’t go amiss,’ Aziraphale thought and did not successfully Thwart a yawn. 

‘Of course, a martyr of Divinity would cuddle after a shag. I’m only tolerating this to warm my cold blood,’ Crowley mused and failed to Wile himself.

A blanket of light enveloped them before a certain supernatural being could complain of the chill. 

A wash of darkness removed residue before a specific metaphysical creature could grouse about the stickiness.

"Good night, dear," professed the angel, settling contentedly in the comfortable embrace of a Ne'er-do-well. 

"Bad dreams, angel," rejoined the demon, gazing fondly at the upturned face of a Miracle worker.

Mozart continued to play in the background as the Forces of Evil and Good (In their case, it was really more apt to refer to them as Forces of Inconvenient Mischief and Moderate Affability.) intertwined in harmonious balance.

**Footnotes:**

(1) Aziraphale found this characteristic of man to be puzzling and tragic, while Crowley found it to be wasteful and stupid.

(2) Historically, only an angel who had not Fallen as much as Sauntered Vaguely Downwards could possibly retain the memory of how to experience the blessed emotion.

(3) Angels were all about 'passing judgement,' therefore acceptance was not a luxury to which Aziraphale was accustomed.

(4) Excluding the century during which Crowley spent most of the time sleeping, and consequently did not have the consciousness to salivate over his deliciously dusty rival.

(5) It had taken a vast amount of Crowley's Wiling to get Aziraphale to go to a cinema with him on one of their meetings/outings/visitations/conference thingies. (The pair didn't refer to the time they spent together which was not solely for the purposes of exchanging professional information by a label. Although, if they did, then neither would dare to call them 'dates,' despite the detail that the majority of observers might.) Aziraphale did not entirely despise film watching, but preferred feeding carbohydrates to wild avian critters, which Crowley didn't mind due to it costing less money (not that Crowley ever paid) and giving them a chance to exchange ideas in an environment when articulation wasn’t treated to scowling shushes.

(6) More or less. Mozart's Piano Concerto Number 23 in A Major was difficult for the entities to choreograph when they were otherwise occupied.

**Author's Note:**

> I sought to write this as a "balanced" piece, alternating between the different, complementary details of the heavenly and hellish figures. It isn't perfect, but I am happy with the end result. What did YOU think?


End file.
